The Patrician (15 page)

One of the overseers made a tackling leap for her. Bryna scooted beyond his reach and lunged for the narrow opening between the laundry and the wine press. She was about to squeeze through when one of the Romans, a Centurion, grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back.

Gaius’ guests applauded, raising their wine glasses in salute as the Centurion tugged a struggling Bryna toward the waiting crowd. A muscle jumped in Jared’s cheek, anger and disgust churning his gut as the man openly fondled her breasts. Her scream of outrage was lost in the raucous laughter of his companions. With a loud oath, he dumped her at Gaius’ feet, shooting her a deadly glare as he suckled the teeth marks on his hand.

“What were you doing there girl,” demanded Gaius. “Spying on my guests?”

She didn’t answer, but kept her head down, hands clenched into fists. Jared could see that she was straining not to react but had little doubt that given the chance she’d gladly scratch their master’s eyes out. He couldn’t help but admire her courage while at the same time fearing she would do just that.

“What type of creature is it?” asked the Centurion’s wife, eyeing her husband unsympathetically. “Does she not understand you, or does she defy her master?” The group laughed.

Gaius’ jaw worked at the jibe from his friends. He stared down at Bryna, who picked that moment to lift her head and look at him. The Roman slapped her hard with the back of his hand. She reeled from the force of it, but was kept from falling by the Centurion’s foot.

Jared had not realized he had moved until the bony hands of the old man dug into his arm. “Let it go, boy,” he hissed. “You risk death over a girl?”

His gaze remained on the group surrounding Bryna. The wisdom in the old man’s advice warred with his instinct. He’d only succeed in getting himself killed. He had no clue what prompted this rush to defend her other than she was a vital link to solving his betrayal. It had nothing at all to do with the fact that she looked so vulnerable, kneeling at the mercy of Gaius. With more effort than he cared to recognize, he pushed the desire to protect her to the dark recesses of his mind and  eased back into line.

“Baal, where was this slave purchased?” asked Gauis’ wife, a plain faced woman whose expensive jewelry did nothing to compensate for her dowdy appearance.

“As I recall mistress, she is a barbarian, bought cheaply through a broker at the market in Alexandria,” Baal replied.

“My dear Una,” drawled an elderly matron, “Barbarians are quite disagreeable as house slaves. Extremely wild and unpredictable. I trust she does not have access to your children?” She angled her head knowingly to her audience. “It’s well known they sacrifice babes such as your boy and drink their blood before cutting them up and roasting their flesh.”

Jared rolled his eyes as Una went completely pale, swaying against her husband.

The matron continued, less interested in blood sacrifices than Bryna’s hair. “But, I dare say this is a most unique color! Why, it is even more engaging than the blonde hair from the Germanic savages. The elite ladies of Rome sport quite wonderful wigs made from hair such as this. It is quite the fashion.”

He slid his gaze to Gaius, who was studying Bryna’s bowed head thoughtfully. The pit of his stomach sank as he realized what Gaius meant to do.

“Well, then dear guest. We must have you in fashion. As a gift, you shall have the locks of this defiant slave.”

Bryna’s head snapped up disbelief filling her eyes.

“Baal, see to it.”

The chains on Jared’s ankles rattled noisily as he took a half-step forward. Gaius drew his sword, thrust it into his chest. The tip sliced the coarse fabric of his tunic, dug into his skin. He could feel blood oozing from the wound. “Cause me no trouble, slave. I will not hesitate to have you flogged to death.” Applause broke out among the Romans.

Jared looked at the point of the sword then boldly met Gaius’ eyes. Beyond his master’s shoulder he could see Baal and his minion shuffle Bryna toward the whipping post. Jared inhaled sharply as Gaius twisted the tip, neatly taking a chunk of skin out of his chest. Sheathing his weapon, he sent Jared a final warning look before he joined his guests.

They bound Bryna’s wrists and secured her head to the wood with a length of rope. Pulling off the scrap of frayed cloth holding her braid together, Baal spread her hair out with his grimy hands.

In the glow of the torchlight, her thick tresses shimmered red and gold, mimicking the brilliance of the fire. Jared could see her shoulders trembling with outrage and his buried anger at Roman justice flamed in his gut.

Sawing back and forth, Baal’s blade sliced through the thick mass of curls cleanly stripping it free from her head. He turned and handed the locks to Gaius who, with a regal bow, presented them to the matron. She clapped her hands in glee and bade a hovering maid servant to carry them back to the villa.

***

Bryna trembled as the chilling air of dusk brushed across her thinly clad shoulders. Without the mantle of her hair, she felt exposed, unprotected, and defenseless. She swallowed thickly. How she hated feeling defenseless.

She rested her flushed cheek against her outstretched arm. The Romans had taken everything; her freedom, her home, her brother and now part of her very body. But she still had her pride, though it lay in tatters.

The Romans returned to their festivities, still talking about the matron’s new wig. One of the men made a noise like a sheep as he walked by which brought roils of laughter from the crowd. Tears pricked her eyes. Jared was probably reveling in her humiliation.

Behind her, Baal shouted to his guards to get the slaves into the
estraglia
. The crunch of the
vilicus’
heavy footsteps closed rapidly upon her.

“You piece of filth,” Baal growled into her ear. “You nearly cost me my position.”

Bryna kept her face buried against her arm. He sliced through the thongs binding her to the pole. Losing her footing she tumbled to the ground.

Blocking his voice from her mind, she concentrated on rubbing the tingling out of her hands. Only two more days and she would be gone. She had to keep her focus on that one goal.

“My goodness, husband, the little beast is quite the sight without its fur.” Eda remarked sarcastically. “It will take liberal use of my cane to get any work out of her now.”

“You’ll not have to set any tasks for this one,” answered Baal brusquely, motioning to one of his guards. The man hurried over, listened to Baal’s instructions, then bowed and returned to the line of shackled men. Baal returned his attention to Eda. “Our master’s wife has decided the girl is too unpredictable and dangerous to have about the household.”

“She is to be sold?” Eda asked hopefully. “To the brothels?”

“No.” Baal, reached down, grabbed her arm and jerked her upright. “The master believes he would get no good price for her and her wild ways. She’ll work in the fields.” Leaving Eda with her mouth opened, he dragged Bryna toward the blacksmith’s forge.

Bryna stumbled alongside Baal, too stunned to resist. Work in the fields? Was she dreaming again? Would she wake from this nightmare to find it time to flee? It had to be a dream world. She couldn’t escape if she were chained.

Wiping sleep from red rimmed eyes, the blacksmith pumped the flames of his forge to life. Waves of heat blended with her despair, dashing the remnants of hope into the pit of her stomach. The blacksmith took a ring of black metal and fitted it around her left arm. It was much too large for her slim wrist and he set to heating the band and making his adjustments.

Bryna watched, numbly, as the metal, glowing from the fire, was fitted to her wrist. Tears sprang to her eyes as one hot edge blistered her skin. She let her breath out and could not find the strength to take in another as the pin slid into place with a loud click, locking the cuff together.

With a deft twist of his hand, the smith attached a good two feet of chain to the band. He let the loose end drop, the weight of it dragging her arm to her side.

Her head began to swim, Baal and the blacksmith whirled by in a flash of blurred images and gray despair. She would never be free. Never find Bran.

Never.

The noise of clanking chains barely registered before she turned and saw Baal’s man ushering Jared toward the forge, golden eyes blazing hotter than the smith’s fire.

He stood stiffly as her chain was locked onto his own, his expression inscrutable. She swallowed hard. This could not be happening. She could not be robbed of her only chance of escape and then bound to an arrogant demon.

Baal gestured to the guard. “Catch up with the rest. I want the
estraglia
locked up tight before the master’s feast begins.”

The guard prodded Jared hard in the back. Practiced at taking measured steps, he walked toward the line of slaves, forcing her to take two steps for every one of his.

One of the kitchen maids skipped along beside her laughing and pointing at her shorn head. Bryna’s cheeks burned. She made a lunge for the giggling girl’s own stringy hair, but was jerked back against Jared’s rock hard torso. He wound the chain around his fist to hold her against his side.

“Be still!” he hissed into her ear sending shivers down her spine. “You have caused me enough trouble all ready. The Romans crave the least bit of reason to wield their whips.” Jared tensed as leather flicked across his back.

“I? Cause you trouble?” Bryna replied low, her voice trembling with outrage. “I did nothing! Nothing!” With her free hand she touched the soft wisps curling around her ear, hot tears burning behind her eyes. They’d chopped her hair off and she hadn’t been able to stop them. That alone infuriated her. “I hate them.”

“Are you really that thick headed?” he said beneath his breath, the sharpness of his tone adding to her foul mood. “You belong to Gaius. He owns you. He can do what he wants.”

She put a fist to her heart, her voice choked, “He doesn’t own this!”

They’d moved into shadow so that his face was hidden but against the backlight of distant torches his rigid profile softened. With a deep sigh, he slackened the chain and continued toward the prison. Unable to do anything else, she quickened her steps to keep up.

An old man stood at the entry, handing out chunks of hard, brown bread. Jared tugged on the chain, urging her to take her portion. Nerves strung tight, it maddened her the way he used the tether to direct her every move. Clutching the stale bread in her hand Bryna followed him down a set of cold, damp steps slick with wet, black mold into the darkness of the
estraglia.

The prison barracks, buried deep within a rocky hillside, could easily accommodate sixty slaves. Gaius crammed in twice that number. What little light there was filtered through three long rectangular windows set near the top of the jagged rock walls. The openings were well out of reach, even for the tallest of the men.

Apprehension tightened Bryna’s throat. She hadn’t been able to abide small spaces since her imprisonment in Coeus’ tiny room and this was much worse than that cell. It felt as though the room were alive, the walls closing in, sucking the air from her lungs. Her breath grew shorter as the cold, wet prison filled with the pungent odor of a hundred unwashed bodies. She raised a trembling hand to her closing throat. There was no more air to breathe. She was going to die.

“What is the matter with you?” Jared grumbled irritably. He must have seen the panic in her eyes, because he caught her by the arms, forced her to look at him. “Concentrate on your breathing,” he said in a slow, even voice. “In and out, slowly. Good. One breath at a time.”

Bryna forced herself to focus on the steady calm of his voice, the warmth of his hands on the clammy chill of her skin. Gods she didn’t want him to see her like this, weak and without control. She tried to pull away from his hold, but he wouldn’t allow it, gently held her still when she would resist. Beneath her ear, she heard the drum of his heartbeat. Slow. Steady. Soothing. Safe. She sighed, giving in to the moment, unable to fight it. Not really wanting to.

It was the sigh that snapped Jared’s jumbled thoughts back into order. What was the matter with him that he was offering her comfort? She deserved every bit of fear and discomfort she got. She’d earned it the day she sent him into this hell.

But as he glanced down at the ragged ends of her shorn hair, felt her relax against him he felt a wave of pity for her, knowing in the same instant she’d scorn his concern. Before he could clear his thoughts, she reached her unfettered hand to his chest and stroked it with her fingers. His heart stuttered and blood rushed to his groin. Her head shot up, eyes filled with shock as his erection pressed against her thigh.

“Ho, now friend, do not keep all the fun for yourself.”

Bryna tensed and tried to push away, but Jared wouldn’t allow her to move. Peering into the dimness he could make out a trio of his fellow wretches watching them. One was pleasuring himself, a drooling slack jawed grin on his face.

“I know it will be a bit awkward, you being shackled to the girl and all,” one continued, his manner congenial, “but we promise to make it quick, don’t we fellows?”

His companions grinned wolfishly.

“There will be no using of the girl,” replied Jared evenly. The very thought of anyone else touching her sent anger rushing through him. But he had to tread carefully. They were in tight quarters and he’d seen men beat others near to death just for their scrap of bread. “I’ll not have what little rest I get disturbed by a bunch of rutting swine.”

“It has been too many months since we have had a woman!” The third one growled. “You have one and we demand a turn at her.”

Jared shifted Bryna behind him and opened his stance. “We have all been driven to exhaustion by our taskmasters. We’re hungry and thirsty. I’ll allow that such desperate conditions can cloud your judgment. So I tell you for the last time, I will not lose sleep this night.”

Scowling, the man drew himself up to his full height which put his head level with Jared’s shoulder. “There are three of us against your one.”